Archive for the ‘Coily Romance’ Category

Over these past few months, I’ve learned a lot about myself and what I need in a man in order for a relationship to stand a snowball’s chance in Hell of surviving between the two of us, and D_G seems to have all of those qualities… and actually asked me to be his girlfriend.

There was no awkward silence one day when he just took it upon himself to introduce me to someone as his girlfriend…

There was no phase in which we were both confused about the boundaries of our relationship…

There was no 9-month wait in which I was constantly looking for signs of how he felt about me because he wouldn’t say the word (sorry… having flashbacks)…

He just fuggin’ said it… with HIS CHEST!

Some of you may be a little confused right now, so to catch you up on the allusion, here’s a clip:

Now for the set-up: We’re at his place on a Thursday night, chillin’, sippin’ ever so slightly on Wal-Mart champagne (don’t judge our small-time romantic evening in… we’re college students, alright!) and eating some sort of chicken and noodles with sauce dish that he cooked (he can cook!). The roads are frozen (when I say frozen, I don’t mean small patches uh-uh no suh… these roads were ice cold, like a national APhiA convention. Burr) and all of his friends were over there, stuck. I love it when his friends are there! They may be the nicest people in the entire world.

Anywho, we’re chillin’, playing DJ Rap Star on whatever video game console they have in his apartment when all of a sudden, his friend, whom I shall refer to as JamRoQ (because he’s a Jamaican Que, which is just so funny to me)grabs a black magic marker, pulls him into the bathroom, and shuts the door.

Ummm… kkkkk?

So I’m looking around the room for an explanation and everyone is avoiding my gaze… so of course my mind goes straight to the worst things imaginable:

They’re doing something mildly freaky and very unholy in that bathroom, and I don’t think I’m into that.

I went into the room and sat down in front of the computer, trying to see if the ice had melted off of the roadways yet so I could go home. I was so engrossed in weather.com that I didn’t even hear the bathroom door open… until D_G crept up behind me and said “Turn around”.

Oh. My. God.

I slowly turned around to find a cheesin’ D_G standing behind me with no shirt on… with something written across his chest. It read:

WILL YOU BE MY GIRLFRIEND?

… with a box around the right nipple indicating to grab that one for “no” and one around the left indicating “yes”.

I don’t know if any of you guys saw, but I finally decided to talk to the Distinguished_Gentleman about my celibacy.

Yup. You heard right.

Why, you ask? Because I found (with the help of my awesome readers and commenters) that I needed to tell him before things got serious and any sexual tension cropped up between us. That way, he wouldn’t be expecting anything that I couldn’t (or rather, wouldn’t) deliver.

So the next time I saw him, I sat him down and told him I wanted to talk.

and I just blurted out, “How do you feel about not having sex until, say, October 1st, 2011?”

Of course, he was on the floor laughing. No bueno. I was serious and he was on the floor about to pee himself, laughing! WTF?

“Babe, why such a specific date? If you don’t want to have sex for a while, cool, but it sounds like you’ve got this all figured out in your head using some sort of formula or something. I mean, I know you go to that nerd school and all, but damn.”

I gotta admit, I could kind of see how just bustin’ out a specific date on him could be considered… slightly funny. But this negroid was still on the floor, and he hadn’t stopped laughing yet. Matter of fact, there were tears in his eyes.

I feel like… it just wasn’t that funny.

I guess he saw the look on my face because he straightened up and asked me seriously for my reasoning behind the date.

And I told him everything.

I told him about my past and how I felt like I needed to give myself time to heal and discover more about myself without having sex in the picture as a means of doping myself up, so to speak.

Because we all know sex (well, good sex) is something like a drug. That’s why you can’t just go around doing it in public. That ish is a controlled substance.

Better cuff yo’ dealer, quick!

Anyhow, after he heard all of the sordid details about my past, he gave me a hug (how cheesy… but still oh-so-sweet) and told me that if I wanted to wait, he’d try to tough it out with me.

“I can’t make any promises that I won’t want it at times, because 10 months is a long time, but I support your decision and I won’t cheat on you, so I guess we are in this together.”

I mean yeah, I like him and yeah, he likes me, and yeah, he has some piercings that I’m a little too into (don’t judge me for my freak-like-tendencies)…

… and yeah, he gives the best kisses in the world and cooks for me and massages my legs when I’m sore from ROTC…

But what if it ends?

You see, I’m really starting to care about D_G, and if, for some odd reason, our relationship ended (which is more likely than not)… well… I just don’t want to hurt like that again.

And how am I supposed to tell him about my celibacy? Do I just wait until it comes up or should I tell him now and gauge his reaction? What if he starts acting funny? Although I’d be better off without him, it would still hurt.

Now I’m saying all of this in order to get the point across that while I do feel that I am better equipped now than I was 55 days ago to deal with a relationship because of this celibacy challenge, I may have taken a few steps backwards in the sense of being able to be in one. I know I can be faithful and honest and understanding and all that other jazz, but I don’t think, especially in the case of D_G, that it’s any easier for me to lose someone that I care about.

First of all: I’m a very sexual creature, and, to be honest, I don’t really masturbate for fear of my roommate and her boyfriend (my brother) hearing it and jonesing me about it for… I dunno… THE REST OF MY NATURAL LIFE.

Second of all: I’ve almost completely lost my sex drive. Yeah, it’s easier, but at the same time… I’m only twenty and I really don’t want to have sex with anyone! I’m supposed to be young, dumb, and full of cum…

Now I’m just young and dumb 😦

Last but not least is the third reason I’m shocked at the way things are going:

I met someone.

No, scratch that… I spent time with someone that I met long ago and sparked a new flame. Aww yeah.

So here’s the story:

As a cadet in Army ROTC you tend to meet a lot of cool dudes with nice bodies, but they’re all immediately put into the “just friends” or “running buddy” category because… well… the cadet Corps has enough issues without the added burden of cadets screwing other cadets.

Yeah, I said it.

But last year, one young man in particular (who was a year older than me) caught my eye. He wasn’t magically delicious, like a box of Lucky Charms, or even super strong, like the Hulk…

He was just this average Joe-Schmoe black guy that I actually felt comfortable talking to about stuff, seemed really nice, and that I actually looked forward to seeing on field training exercises and at PT tests, when we’d catch up on each other but somehow never exchange numbers… but was getting kicked out of the program for (duh duh duhhh) legal reasons.

I mean, what can I say? Shawty want a thug… with nipple rings (Oh hell yes, I digs that REAL hard. *drools unapologetically*)

Fast forward to last week and I’m casually clicking the “Send Friend Request” button on facebook to add my cocoa-chocolate-Adonis-fantasy-lover as a friend on facebook. I mean, I hadn’t seen him in FOREVER and we were cool… and he was no longer a cadet, so he could be my friend now… right?

RIGHT?

The next day I just happened to be perusing the F-eth B-eth in my leisure time when a message from him popped up asking how I was. After some witty banter back and forth via the infamous social-networking site, we decided to exchange numbers. After all, a college student may not have clean underwear or decent food to eat, oh, but we will for sure be killing the unlimited text game. #StraightMurkin in ‘dis…

AAANNNYYYWWWHHHOOO… we got to textin’ late LaTe LATE into the night about everything platonic and mildly flirtatious. Ladies and gentlemen, I must admit: when I felt the vibe, I pulled out all of the game that I’d had on reserve for moments such as this for years… which of course ended in us setting up a time to chill together and bake some cupcakes at his dorm, which is about 20 miles away.

But the thing is, he didn’t get off until 11PM that night, and I am not a good driver when I’m well rested, let alone sleepy.

Somehow, Saturday night found me flying up I-75 North with “Lisa Marie” blasting in my ears and the freshest skinny jeans in the ATL hugging each and every one of my curves. When I say I was ready for war, y’all… my jeans were Flocka, front yard, broad day, with the SK. I mean, BA-BA-BA-BA-BOW!

So I finally arrived at my destination and went inside to find a WHOLE BUNCH of people in his apartment drinking and playing Def Jam RockStar.

Sad face. I thought it was gonna be just the two of us.

But, as college often goes, people come and people leave, and soon everyone was gone but his roomies, their female companions, and him and I in the kitchen, arguing over some Red Velvet cake batter and whether or not I should take a shot of Tequila (which I was strongly against… for a few minutes). Then we were icing the cupcakes and he was holding me and telling his roommates not to tell me that I was cool or else I’d get a big head. The shot of tequila left me very sober but afraid to drive and, at 3 AM, I was too sleepy anyhow, so I politely asked to crash.

I felt very bad about this. I hate crashing and I hate being incapacitated in front of people whose respect I desire.

So we went to his room and he politely offered me half of his bed to sleep on, which I gladly took. His school furnished their students with full-sized beds and I was all too used to sleeping on an XL twin 3 feet in the air, so I knew I’d have no problem staying on my side. He gave me his word that he wouldn’t try anything that night, citing the umpteen-million rape cases pending in America that involved the victim drinking beforehand.

OK. Cool.

The next morning I wake up to flashbacks of my time with ArtKid because wouldn’t you know it, this kid is playing in my hair, saying “It’s so fluffy I wanna ddddiiiiieeeee!”

*dead*

And we sat up at 9 AM and talked our way all the way into the afternoon non-stop, not even leaving the confines of his room for food. I had to admit it to myself: the boy had me. He focused solely on me, and even kissed me as we were talking.

Several times.

Ahh… let me be honest… we made out ferociously like two teenagers for a good thirty to forty-five minutes… and it was FUGGING AMAAAAAAZING. He’s probably the best kisser I’ve ever had the pleasure of kissing.

And he didn’t try to go any further than that, which made me want to kiss him even more.

AND (are you guys listening)… he claimed me. I mean to say, he looked me square in the eyes and said, “I want all this to be mine,” and was gesturing to me.

Part of me wanted to just lay down and write his name on my shoulder inside a ribbon on a heart with a black crayola marker, like in elementary school. Ugh! Where have you been all my… college career?!

It’s been more than 24 hours since I got back to my school and I can’t stop thinking about the kisses, the arms wrapped around me in his kitchen, the cupcakes, and him standing at the curb watching me drive away.

I really really really hope this one works out in my favor, and that he’s not the kind of guy who will trip about my celibacy… because I’m still in this 🙂

So, world, herein (hopefully) lies the beginning of a very beautiful thing: the saga of the Distinguished_Gentleman, or D_G for short. Yes, the underscore is mandatory.

You just won’t believe what this fool did! It was utterly shocking! As a matter of fact, I honestly considered it offensive to my humanity. For real.

Ahhh… allow me to transport you to the beginning of the end:

A few days after school ended, I got a notice from my school that I had to switch dorms or be fined $250 (as if they don’t take enough from me already). I was in Warner Robins by then, so I figured I’d make a weekend of coming back to Atlanta. Furthermore, I got an email that same day informing me that I’d won tickets to an exclusive meet-up (yay me!) that would be held in Atlanta on Friday night. When I found all of this out, I called ArtKid and, (almost giddy at this point) asked:

“What are you doing this Friday night?”

He responded, in his slightly-high-for-a-man-but-still-sexy voice, “Uhhhmmmm… nothing yet. Why?”

*Audibly cheesing* “Well, I’m going to be in Atlanta and I figured we could hang because school is out and all that…”

“Yeah, sure. Just call me around 10 or so and we can chill.”

Oh yes world… we were gonna chill alright.

This conversation occurred on Thursday. I drove to Atlanta Friday morning.

I went to all the meet-ups, had a blast, got some food (didn’t want my stomach to growl in front of him), PUT ON A DRESS, and called this fool, fully prepared to turn his world upside down…

… and he says, “Oh, I can’t.”

… “You can’t? Why can’t you?” I mean, I was wearing A DRESS!

Meanwhile, I can hear a female voice in the background talking incessantly (How rude is that?? Talking while someone is on the phone!!?? Really???)… sadly y’all, it did not click and the conversation continued:

…”I’m busy.”

…”Doing what? You told me to call you around this time and I didn’t make any other plans because I thought we could chill.”

“I’m chillin’… with my friend,” he says nervously, as the voice in the background simultaneously gets quiet.

All of a sudden the clouds parted and I saw the light: ladies, gentlemen, and almighty twerkers, this ho had me on a rotation! Oh hell no. No I. Not SuperCoils. Not this crazy little black girl… no way.

“Oh. Well I hope you two have a blast.”

“Ah man, don’t…”

*click*

I mean, are we serious right now? You want to sit there and play Mr. Sensitive when you’ve got me on a ROTATION?? Dear coily world, please be advised: the only rotations I do are arm-and-shoulder rotations, ya feel me?

Then this fool had the gall to text me two hours later tal’m (my accent comes out when I’m pissed) ’bout some, “Hey. I’m done now. Do you still want to hang?”

But alas, the more forgiving side of me decided to give him another chance 4 weeks later… when I was desperately bored:

I’d been avoiding ArtKid for quite some time after that, ignoring all means of contact (FaceBook, Twittah, email, phone, mutual friends… all that… he was cut off like a shop teacher’s fingers. That is, until he said the magic words:

“Hey ghost girl. You wanna go to Little Five Points with me?”

I’d never been to Little Five Points, but I wanted to go so badly!!! I’d been trying to find it for three years, to no avail. But ArtKid was willing to take me! Wow! Of all the luck…

So I hopped in my car and drove over there very slowly. Tuition was due on Monday and I was especially afraid of getting a ticket (y’all know Fulton County don’t play that).

When I got there, he took forever to let me into his building (Strike One) and then said, “Hey, I’m broke and trying to conserve gas… would you mind driving?”

So… you mean to tell me you’re a grown man who goes shopping every weekend, doesn’t cook, lives alone, invites women to go out with you, and can’t even factor the miniscule amount of gasoline it takes to drive said female from your spot to the date locale into your budget? Strike Two.

Admittedly though, we had a great time out there. Little Five Points is such a unique place with so many different people. I absolutely loved it and thoroughly enjoyed my time there.

But then we got back in the car and started talking about being broke. As a college student, I know what it means to be broke, so our conversation was pretty funny to hear… we were joking back and forth about things one should buy the other, such as flat screens and cars and houses, when food comes up:

“SuperCoils, I think you should buy me a double cheeseburger.”

I looked at him and laughed, “You must really like double cheeseburgers dude, because I was about to say ‘a yacht’.”

“Nah, I’m for real… can you buy me a double cheeseburger?”

I was just smiling and laughing at this guy! OMG, he’s so funny! He REALLY must love double cheeseburgers! But then I looked over at his face and my smile was instantly erased: he. was. serious.

… da ffffff****************kkkkkkkkk? Excuse my French y’all, but is this coon really begging for food?

“I mean, nevermind, cuz you act like you don’t even want to get me one, even though I bought you food twice last month and now I’m broke. You know, that’s really messed up. If you needed one, I’d get one for you.”

I have to admit, he had a somewhat valid point (except for the fact that I don’t eat double cheeseburgers), but the way that he practically begged, then got pouty… it just turned me completely off.

Is this grown-ass-man really sitting in the passenger seat of my car with his lip poked out over a double cheeseburger? And did he really just try to send me on a guilt trip about not getting him one? Alright then. I’ll fix his ass.

So we pull up to Burger King and he leans over me (Strike Fifty-Eight) to order his sandwich… which came to a whopping 1 dollar and 8 cents. Are. You. Serious? I just drove around, paid for the sandwich (in change, just for irony’s sake), and pulled the oh-so-hefty bag into the car.

“Hey, I really appreciate this, you know. I was so bored today. My cable got cut off and I dont’ have any internet…”

“Oh, it’s no problem! Hey, we’re having a budgeting event at the school in about a week,” (totally false), “and I figured you may wanna come… you know, before that next paycheck just flies away. Who knows? I may not be here the next time to get you a sandwich.”

I know it wasn’t right, or fair, but I was pissed and I knew the only way to get to him was to mess with his most prized possession (well, maybe second): his ego.

So, ArtKid and I parted ways that day, both of us confused about what had just happened. Well, the confusion was well founded: ArtKid is my ex’s best friend… from high school.

Yes, things are very complicated.

Which makes the whole situation even MORE complicated. We actually used to double together, though my ex (we’ll call him Mr. Image, because that’s all he really cares about) and whoever ArtKid had with him at the time always noticed that ArtKid and I had similar tastes in everything, whether it be architecture or music. Both of us are kind of artsy (even though I go to an engineering school) and… well… there’s always been a very noticeable spark between us that we both pretty much ignored (even if our significant others did not).

… Until the second rendezvous.

That next day I went back to my dorm, took a shower, and proceeded to study for a few hours. It was a fairly normal Saturday afternoon, and I was doing just about everything I could to take my mind off of ArtKid and his mind-blowing kisses (y’all, they gave me goosebumps). Everything was find until I got the call that shot my entire weekend all to hell:

*ring ring*

Me: “Oh sh!t”

*ring ring ring*

Me: *groan, then answers* “Hello?”

ArtKid: “… Hey. What are you doing?”

Me: “Studying. What are you doing?”

ArtKid: “Nothing. Just called to say hey. I’m bored. You wanna come over tonight?”

Me: *dropping books, flinging pencils to the floor, and packing a small bag simultaneously* “Umm, yeah, I think I can swing that… for a little bit at least. Just give me an hour to tie up some loose ends.” (Can’t let him think I actually want to see him!)

Me: *walking out of the door in my flyest last minute outfit* “Umm, ok.”

Ladies (and men), I had to scrounge for things to do for an hour! I went and filled my car up with gas, vacuumed it, cleaned the truck out, put on two coats of lotion, painted my toenails (yes, in the parking deck), and programmed some numbers into my phone. When an hour had finally passed, I cranked up my car, put in some Drake, texted ArtKid that I was on my way, racing down Northside, windows down, coils blowing, desperate to get closer to my dreams (however inappropriate they may be).

And before I knew it, I had arrived… and I was very afraid.

Afraid of what would happen if we kissed again, if I myself wasn’t sure how I felt about him. What if Mr. Image found out? Would I lose a (admittedly semi-toxic) friendship all to have something like a relationship with his friend?

After a few minutes of sitting in my car thinking, I texted ArtKid one word: “downstairs”.

Moments later we were in his apartment, talking about how much this past week sucked. I was stressed about finals and he was stressed about work… and we took a shot each of E&J to “adjust our attitudes”… and talked for a while longer while the shots took effect.

For those of you out there who may be reading this, please know that alcohol doesn’t make me stupid (in small amounts), but it does make me very honest and forthcoming… which is not cool at all when it comes to my relations with men.

During a lull in the conversation, I looked up at him on the couch and asked, “What are we doing? Aren’t you worried about Mr. Image?” to which he simply replied, “I don’t know”. “What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?” “I mean ‘I don’t know’. I know that there’s something between us and that I like you.” And thus began a make-out session unlike any other I have experienced in my few years of life, complete with delicate touches and eyes-open kisses (I don’t care what anybody says… that’s super-sexy). And, because I had driven and taken a shot, I again stayed over, and he again held me while I slept.

The next day we woke up, got IHOP takeout for breakfast, and ate it on the roof of his building (which overlooks most of Atlanta) in the mid-morning Sunday heat. Neither of us has approached the question of Mr. Image again, but we both recognize that we’ll have to tell him sooner or later. We just sat on the roof, ate, and caked, sharing strawberries in the summer sun.

…That is, until my phone decided to ring. It was Big Blue. Wow. I’d forgotten all about him.

So… myself and this man that I have known for a long time decided to step out this weekend and go get fish tacos out of boredom. Neither of us were really looking to do anything… we just thought “Well, I’m hungry… and he’s hungry… and we both have nothing to do so… fish tacos at the Taqueria on Howell Mill!”

Taqueria Del Sol... best fish tacos ever!

And I was wearing my signature braid-and-curl with a bang flopped over the front of my face, wearing my favorite orange shirt (orange is my favorite color, BTW) and rocking some freshly painted toe nails, not to mention moisturized ankles. I had already run that day so I had my little “runner’s high” and no stress to boot! When I say I was feeling good… I was looking and feeling like a billion bucks. If BP felt the way I felt, they’d take all that money they have to pay in fines, get it converted to one dollar bills, and make it rain on the capitol. Yeah, I said it.

Back to the story:

So I went ahead and decided to hang with him… whom I’ve always thought of as a semi-homie. We will refer to him on this blog as ArtKid (he’s a graphic designer in my area).

Music... oh I should've seen it coming...

Well, ArtKid and I had a great time at the Taqueria and decided to go chill at his place. We get there, start playing some music, and spend the whole time just talking about things… just any old thing! We talked about high school, college, engineering versus art, The Boondocks (pause)… you name it. We actually sat there from 10 pm to 4 am and just talked without the TV being on or anything!

So, of course, after those 6 hours I naturally had to pee. I mean, I drink a lot of water and I’m not trying to be cute and hold it. Hellz no. As a matter of fact, the “trying to be cute taken to the extreme” thing is something for another post, but I hope it will suffice to say that I find myself incapable of trying to be one of those cute, salad-eating chicks. What the hell do I look like eating a salad? I’m a carnivore, damnit.

Once again, I digress.

Anywho, I go in the bathroom, do my business, and come out to the couch. Naturally, we’re both tired and he’s had a shot (when we first got there… but still) and he drove so… I’m not trying to go back to the dorms just now. Fulton County will lock you up in a heartbeat if you even look suspicious… and doesn’t everyone look suspicious at 4 am? So we both laid down with a line of pillows in between us and went to sleep, although, after that night, I really wasn’t sure just how I felt about him.

Four hours later, I’m waking up and rolling over only to find ArtKid staring at me, which is very startling at 8am. What’s even more startling is that one of his hands is on my waist and the other is in my hair, not to mention that the line of pillows is nowhere to be found. He says to me, “I love it that your hair is natural. It fits your personality more than when you had straight hair.”

Hmmm…

WOW!

Wiping sleep out of my eyes, I think of the smoothest thing I know to say in moments like these: “I have to pee.”

So I get up and half sprint to the bathroom and immediately look at my hair, only to find that I’d slept pretty wildly and my hair indicated this fact. This, combined with ArtKid’s pulling and twirling while waiting for me to wake up had wreaked havoc on my once-cute style, leaving it stretched and only curly on the ends. Being that I always carry an emergency headband in my pocket, I did something I had never done before: I grabbed that headband, stretched it to the max, looped it twice around my head, and flat twisted my bangs into a side sweep… and as the headband migrated to the back of my head, I realized that I had done what I thought was impossible: I had made a puff.

And y’all, my puff was bigger than Kanye’s ego (the intangible one, that is).

With my new-found hairstyle firmly in place, I walked back into his room and sat down on the side of the bed, only to

mmhmmm... yup...

have him crawl across to where I was and drag me into the center… all to play with my hair! He continued with the compliments and hair-play for about 10 minutes (aka a long time), then looked me in my eyes and kissed me. I did not know what to say… so I didn’t say anything. I just know that I enjoyed that kiss (although I shouldn’t have) and I’ve been rocking my puff ever since.

Sidenote: ArtKid and I are very similar in personality, music preference, and interests… hmmm… But there’s a twist to this story… that’ll just have to wait for a bit.